The Goldfish in My Head

The social pyramid at Northwood High was less architecture and more invisible death trap. You could feel it—the way certain tables in the cafeteria became thrones, while others were basically landmines. My older sister Maya had been a pyramid-climber, ascending with terrifying precision until she sat at the top, waving down at us mere mortals like she was blessing peasants.

I had zero plans to climb anything. My strategy was horizontal movement at best.

That was before I saw Ethan playing padel with his friends after school. Padel, for the uninitiated, is like tennis but shorter racquets, walls you can hit off, and somehow more aggressive energy. Ethan moved like the court was his natural habitat. His laugh carried across the gym—this genuine sound that made my stomach do backflips.

"You should come play," my friend Zara said. "Ethan's been asking about you."

"He has NOT."

"He has. Also, their team needs a fourth for the tournament next week."

Which is how I found myself holding a padel racquet like it might bite me, standing across from Ethan Martinez, who smiled like he didn't realize he stood at the top of the pyramid and I was somewhere in the basement, possibly below the foundation.

"First time?" he asked.

"Is it that obvious?"

"Nah, you're gripping it like a goldfish. Loosen up."

A goldfish. I'd won one at a carnival in seventh grade, named it Toast, and watched it swim in increasingly sad circles for three months until my mom flushed it. Toast had never loosened up. Toast had died.

That night, I lay in bed running through every interaction, every micro-expression, the way Ethan's eyes had crinkled when he'd laughed at my terrible serve. I was overthinking everything, spinning in circles, running nowhere but inside my own head.

The tournament happened anyway. We lost spectacularly. But afterward, Ethan bought me a smoothie and said, "You've got a natural cut shot, though. We should practice."

Maybe pyramids were meant to be climbed sideways. Maybe the top wasn't the point. Maybe some goldfish learned to swim in straight lines if you gave them enough room. I ordered another smoothie and let myself hope.